Wit Beyond Measure
by A Wordsmith
Summary: Snape overhears the entire prophecy, and everything changes. Harry Potter becomes just a war orphan while Neville Longbottom is the presumed Boy-Who-Lived. But Harry isn't content with the shadows. Ravenclaw is a hidden world of pain and power and he will fight his way to the top. While the world focuses on those it thinks is in power, he strains against the sky to raise himself.


_I do not own Harry Potter._

xXx

 **Chapter One**

 **Beginnings**

xXx

 _Magic was the first to come and shall be the last to leave. She was not mastered by wizardkind but gifted to them, letting but a drop of her ocean live within our souls. Wizardkind shall never be the master of the power roiling beneath our skin but instead, we are but wands ourself to Magic, directing her will and pretending we are the masters of our own destiny._

 _-Magic Throughout the Centuries_

xXx

Severus Snape's first love may have been Potions, but his wand was as sharp as his mind. Aberforth Dumbledore stormed up the hallway, eyes narrowed and wand drawn, but Snape merely cast a shield charm to keep the man back. An unnatural voice filled with twisting words slithered under the door and he listened desperately. Aberforth barked out curses but a silencing hex toward the furious man let the rest of the prophecy reach him.

A final sneered launched toward the Dumbledore, Snape whirled on his heel and disappeared.

xXx

James Potter picked up the last of the cardboard boxes, flicking his wand to let it float gently behind him. Lily gave a soft smile as she charmed the curtains - the last things they were taking from their house - to fold themselves and slip into an open box.

The house looked bare, horribly so. They still had the same pale golden walls and grey carpets and spotless crown molding but nothing covered them anymore. The couches, the pictures, the tables, and now the curtains were gone and transported to their new home.

The Headmaster had given them chilling news. Severus Snape, one whose name was enough to cause Lily's eyes to flatten and James' grip on his wand to tighten, had overhead the complete prophecy that foretold of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's pressing death. The words were vague, as most prophecies normally were, but _born as the seventh month dies_ was a relatively easy to understand line. A child born in the last days of July.

But was it a child? The wording never said whether they had already been born but the copious use of future tense most likely pointed toward someone that had yet to be brought into this world.

Someone like their son, Harry James Potter, who had been born on July 31st in a public hospital with his birth records being instantly categorized and placed in Ministry records. While neither James nor Lily had been particularly well known, neither at Hogwarts or in the world after, being an Auror attracted attention of the wrong sort. And battles with the You-Who-Know were not easily forgotten. James had never fought him head on, but there had been battles with the evil wizard on the same field, and for all of those James and his partners had managed to at least capture a few Death Eaters. There had been three of them. _Born to those that have thrice defied him_.

James had turned down one single recruition offer and Lily had fended off two from Snape's friends, if that wasn't enough. While the world hardly knew their name, for those within the ranks of Death Eaters would be able to connect the lines of the prophecy to their own heads, and that of their son.

He growled and curse and closed his eyes. The box nudged his back as he stopped moving and he barely restrained the instinct the blast it sky-high with the worst curse he could muster.

Lily swatted his shoulder as she passed, but her eyes still had the same dead look that had appeared ever since Dumbledore had said Lord Voldemort might be hunting their baby. She cast her own charm on the cardboard box, easily overpowering his distraction, and made the last of their possessions float out of the door.

"We'll be okay, James. There's no one we're telling our defenses to, not even Dumbledore." There was a small smile on his face. "He asked one last time to know how we already managed to erase our house from his mind. I feel like he's just humouring us now - there's no way he doesn't already know about the Fidelius."

The edge of tension around him fell from his shoulders. "I believe you, Lily-flower."

A stinging hex met his side and a real laugh escaped him. She had always hated the nickname.

The Auror branch had been upset and curious as to why he had quit immediately, apologizing profusely for not having time to prepare them for the lack of an able-bodied Auror. But they had seen the true regret and desperation in his eyes and had let him disappear into the folds of the muggle world in the way he had never done before. Lily was prepared, if not perfect, and her childhood told her what to expect. The most he had experienced was apparating into London to have a proper entry into Diagon Alley with his parents.

But now everything was changing. Snape had heard the whole damned prophecy and it wouldn't take the Dark side very long to find them where they were now, and no one was safe. It could be sometimes dangerous to only have the spell contained on one person but they couldn't risk any of their friends to be the Secret Keeper. James had taken the duty upon himself and while he knew constantly being surrounded by the secret he had to keep would be taxing on his magic, it was worth it. Harry was a giggling, happy baby as well as the apple of his parents' eye - he wouldn't risk it.

Dozens of wards and charms were lined around their house. They were rather far from a naturally occurring source of magic and so hadn't been able to put perfect defenses up lest the wards suck up too much magic and devoid themselves of it completely.

But Lily had laid the final protection - hundreds of runes carved into the wood of their front room, taking hours to complete the full design and each covered in a light layer of her blood. The sacrifice of her blood automatically classified it as Dark in the Ministry's eyes but she was far past caring. Her Harry came first and James thoroughly agreed with that, but she didn't let him add his own blood to the mixture. He didn't have any understanding of runes beside the child's book he had read before he went to Hogwarts and runes were known as temperamental for a reason - the slightest mistake could set them off in potentially catastrophic results. But he trusted her without a doubt.

Together, they grabbed onto the final boxes and spun on their heels. With a flash, they disappeared, both from the front lawn and from the Wizarding World.

xXx

Godric's Hollow bustled with activity. Halloween night was fast approaching and children squealed with excitement as they ran around, smearing face paint on and clambering into heavy costumes. The world seemed concentrated on that moment as muggle children trotted from door to door, uncaring of the people walking past.

It had been an entire year, hundreds of endless stretching days that the Dark side had had to wait. Days prying apart every word in the prophecy, gathering together teams strong enough to take down the Potters and Longbottoms, waiting for Pettigrew to finally have an opening to get the Potter's location.

After far too long a while, it had come to them. James Potter's birthday party, where, after several long months of hiding, they had allowed themselves to finally invite James' closest friends. Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew.

They were told the location and then immediately brought to the house. The party took place, everyone had fun times, then Lily Obliviated the knowledge of the house's location from their mind as soon as they stepped out the door, making it safe.

At least, it would have been safe if Pettigrew hadn't taken a moment in the loo to write down the location on a piece of paper before he was Obliviated. That same piece of paper was in Corban Yaxley's pocket, already read and memorized. The Fidelius was a powerful charm but anything could be defeated.

"Pyrites!" He barked, turning to the man beside him. The silver mask, etched with curling lines extending out from the mouth and slits for eyes stared blankly at him, uncaring. There was no emotion in the metal flesh except for inhuman beauty. While the man's eyes snapped to him, attentive and ready, the silver of his face was dead. "Is the brat ready?"

His fellow Death Eater bobbed his head, flicking his wand rather idly. There was a twitch of magic in the air as something floated out from behind him, writhing in the air despite the heavy chains linking its limbs together.

His Lord was no fool. Lily Potter had been brilliant at charms and runes and there was little doubt she had warded her house to heaven and hell themselves. While she couldn't use it to keep muggles out, living in a town full of the filthy things, there were many magic-seeking wards she could create. His Lord hadn't wanted to sacrifice one of His men for the task, and no random mud child would do. The Weasleys were a disgrace to magic, the whole lot blood-traitors, and children were particularly easy to take.

Their eldest child, a mere ten years old, flopped around. He'd only been taken three days ago, which hadn't let Bellatrix do more than touch him, but the portkey on his chains would send him back to the base in case he survived breaking the wards, in which case she could do however she wished.

She had been pleased about that, even with the anger that their Lord was keeping her from attacking the Longbottoms. His Lord needed her to attack elsewhere, in Diagon Alley, to cause fear and distraction while his real goal, the Potters and Longbottoms, would go unnoticed until it was too late for anyone to notice.

Pyrites gave one look back to the dozen other Death Eaters behind him. Most were at least moderately well trained, a step higher than the endless grunts his Lord attracted. He was taking no chances.

Yaxley nodded to him. Though there was no change in the unchangeable mask, there was a certain sort of excitement flashing in his eyes as Pyrites flicked his wand and sent the brat half a dozen feet forward, right through the edge of the wards.

Nothing happened. The brat managed to touch the ground but Pyrites merely flicked his wand up and made him float wildly in a figure eight, eyes narrowed. Yaxley sighed. They were intent-based wards, which made sense. It wouldn't do well to have any random wandering wizard get caught up in the wards, though he did wonder how Pettigrew managed to get through. But no matter. He knew a way to get past this.

" _Imperius_ ," he muttered, angling his bent wand toward the blood-traitor. He stilled, wide blue eyes still flinging themselves every which way, but he didn't have a chance to throw off the Unforgivable. "You hate the Potters. You want to kill them. You want to kill their son, Harry James Potter."

And finally, the wards took notice.

The brat tensed, anger flashing through his eyes for a mere second before fear and panic overtook them once again. His skin flashed brilliantly with every color of the rainbow as nearly a dozen wards snapped onto his magical core. Yaxley was moderately impressed - that was a difficult number of wards to maintain without being on a ley line. The Potters weren't useless. The brat thrashed desperately to free himself but the chains held tight. The wards began to attack him as he screamed.

Inside, James tensed.

Yaxley spat off another Dark curse, connecting the edge of his wand to the brat in a pale, shimmering line. It was nearly impossible to defend against this method, using a sacrificial goat to have the wards attack it while another person constantly sucked magic. The wards wouldn't comprehend that and would keep attacking, losing more and more magic, until either the sacrifice died or the wards were drained. If he was lucky enough, the Potters would pour their magic into trying to keep the wards active and he'd kill them in one sweep effort.

The constant magic flowing through him from the brat was exhilarating, additive. Yaxley let a blue-tinged sigh escape his lips - the very air he was breathing was tainted with the brilliant blue-green peacock stain of ward magic. If the Potters managed to put up a fight, he would meet them as their betters in every way.

The wards strengthened furiously and now there was someone feeding them, pouring magic that only forced more screams out of the brat as he writhed in midair. A window on the house clattered open.

Yaxley looked up. Furious brown eyes met his own cool stare, protected by layer after layer of silver and robes and disguises. James Potter shot a single look to the brat his own wards were torturing and disappeared back into the house, closing the window wordlessly. After a moment, the wards slithered back, their full magic retreating back into the one that had cast them.

The blood-traitor collapsed on the ground, lungs giving up and throat most likely horribly scarred. But he had survived, a bit surprisingly. At least Bellatrix would be pleased. He doubted the brat would live much longer after she got her claws into him. As one of his Lord's Inner Circle, she received gifts like that.

Yaxley straightened his shoulders. He would prove himself to Him tonight. While he didn't wish for blood-traitors as presents, there were more ways their Lord's pleasure could manifest.

Pyrites clucked his tongue. The brat screeched one last time before folding out of time and space, his chains bringing him back to the base. At long last, they were ready. Lily and James Potter were preparing. He would not give them the satisfaction.

Corban Yaxley threw his wand forward and charged.

A muggle child walked down the sidewalk. Without breaking his stride it went flying backward, slamming into the wall of another house and collapsing. His magic thrummed beneath his wrists, coursing through his nine magical pressure points. His vision tinged a brilliant blue-green.

The Potter's door had a curse on it. He cast the counter-charm and watched the power bleed away, wood cracking and snapping until it collapsed in broken chunks at his feet. Pyrites stepped next to him and he barely bit back a snarl.

This was his night to prove himself to Him, his Lord. Not for some upstart who had only joined from a sick desire for power.

They were in a front room. Couches pushed against a wall, tables flung to the side, the air buzzing with power. The Potters were prepared. James Potter stood there, armed and ready, eyes narrowed with determination. Lily Potter was behind him, red hair pinned back, wand drawn as well as… a knife, gripped tightly in her dominant hand. That was rather surprising, though the fury in her eyes spoke of her willingness to use it. Something was between their feet and scarlet shone over the floor, a carpet thrown back.

Yaxley stepped forward. If they recognized his voice, it was of little consequence. They'd be dead soon enough. "The Dark Lord sends his blessings to your child."

"He isn't strong enough to come himself?" James growled, eyes flicking as the rest of the Death Eaters filed into the room behind Yaxley, wands drawn and silver faces impassive. They knew what to do.

"If he never marks your child, there is no possible way that anyone could defeat him, as I'm sure you are aware." Yaxley's wand arm twitched.

James immediately fired off a stunner. The battle began.

Yaxley burned with peacock blue. All of his spells were filled with magic not belonging to him and they crackled through the air, slamming against hastily raised shields or rebounding off of walls with enough force to crack drywall. Two of his Death Eaters were both stunned as well as paired with a suitably devastating injury - there were no risks being taken.

Pyrites landed a lucky shot on Lily but it had only been a _diffindo_ , and she easily threw up a shield. But she turned to James and whispered a few words. The battle continued, but without her. She threw up four more shields, completely covering her as she knelt and pressed the bleeding wound onto the ground.

The battle continued, but Yaxley couldn't help the slight worry the blood brought to him. Rituals were Dark by Ministry standards but Lily was obviously doing something, if the look in James' eyes was anything to go by.

James' eyes, which still held the fire of the fight, had faded to a sort of acceptance. His curses never wavered but as shields swallowed more and more of his power up, he seemed to understand he was not going to win this fight. Yaxley felt a hint of grudging respect for the man appear.

Lily drew the knife and cut ore along her own arm, spilling blood over the floor in a continuous stream. Yaxley suddenly caught a glimpse of carvings in the ground - runes. A ritual. "Focus on the mudblood!" He screamed.

James looked up at with furious eyes and cast his own five shields, covering every part of him and his wife. Now they couldn't attack back, bound by their own glimmering shields. Yaxley and all of his Death Eaters launched curse after curse, shattering one shield, but by that time both Potters had knelt on the ground and revealed what was between them.

A baby basket with a tiny one-year-old within, bundled heavily by blankets inscribed with protective runes. Harry James Potter. The one he had been sent to kill.

"Protego Maxima!" Both Lily and James bellowed in unison. The golden shield caught them all by surprise - it curled around the baby's basket, a bubble stretching even underneath the floor.

But it didn't cover the elder Potters, and it was stronger for it. Two powerful wizards and witches, casting an immensely powerful shield charm in an absolutely tiny place? That would be powerful enough to survive any sort of spell or explosion.

The runes on the floor glowed more violently. James and Lily curled around the shield, mouths moving with words he could not hear, and a sickly light the color of blood trickled around the room. Runic magic.

Yaxley barely managed to throw up the strongest shield he could muster before his world exploded.

The silver mask in front of his face finally fought its unmoving confines. Its eye sockets bled down, bubbling into drawn-out, inhuman eyes. The cheeks warped and stretched in every direction from the sheer heat. The hole of the mouth widened impossibly wide.

Its first - and last - expression was one of fear.

xXx

Derrick Savage Apparated into a back alley of Godric's Hollow. His wand was tightly clenched and his eyes were narrowed - this was his third call of the night, and his previous two had all either been current attacks or the aftermaths of one. The Dark side was attacking full force tonight and no one knew _why_.

But that wasn't his job as an Auror. He just had to figure out what the hell was going on and stop it.

For being Samhain - or Halloween, whatever the muggles called it - the streets were deserted. That was a telling sign, especially with the curling tendril of smoke over the edge of the building he was hiding behind.

Another fifteen seconds and he could see why.

Where there had once been a house was simply an empty plot of land. The grass was disintegrated, the dirt scorched black, and nothing existed for a thirty-meter range. An immensely powerful blast, and the taint of roiling scarlet magic made it apparent. Blood magic, ritual magic, whatever people called it, the magic was Dark.

He didn't know who had lived here but the Ministry would be able to find it out. It was readily obvious whoever had lived here wasn't going to be alive any longer-

A wail broke his thoughts.

Directly in the middle of the explosion, there was the glimmer of something golden. Light magic. He edged closer, wand raised, now able to clearly see the hole sunk nearly three feet into solid earth. He could catch the bare remains of golden shield magic floating away - the slow disappearance that told the magic's original owners were dead, killed in some way. But their last act had been to protect something.

He could see why. A tiny babe, around a year old, wailed up at him, arms thrashing. It was swaddled in blankets covered in dozens of runes. He checked it quickly - only two were borderline frowned upon, while the rest were merely protective charms. A worried Light family, knowing they might be attacked by Death Eaters? They had cast a powerful shield while the Dark wizards caused an explosion, perhaps?

But that made no sense. Death Eaters were self-preserving above all and must have known the explosion would have killed them, but the presumably Light family wouldn't have caused a frighteningly Dark ritual spell like that.

It wasn't his job to figure that out. He flicked his wand and lifted the basket into the air. The babe had been mostly protected but that powerful of an explosion had still worked its way past the shield - its skin was bright red and peeling, though not enough to worry about. Minor burns, fixed up in a jiffy.

Derrick cast one last look over the lack of a house and Apparated out with the new orphan.

xXx

A dog sniffed at the explosion, a whine escaping its mouth. It whirled on its back legs and transformed into a man visibly hunched over with grief, but before another moment had passed, the man kept spinning and Apparated away.

xXx

Sarabi Devene looked down at the child in her arms. One Harry James Potter, parents recently deceased in a terrible attack by Death Eaters no one had seen coming. He wasn't the only orphan created on what people had been quick to name the Night of Blood.

Over forty-two attacks and eighty-one deaths, all without apparent reason. Death Eaters had attacked random locations all over Britain, magical or not. The only sign was the poor Weasleys, whose eldest son had been kidnapped right from underneath their noses just three days prior. Though people had been searching, one William Arthur Weasley was nowhere to be seen.

Six new war orphans on one night. The Death Eaters had been frighteningly good during their attacks but parents still protected their children or sent them away even as they died in their stead. But in only twelve hours, the entire Wizarding World was filled with a horrible, horrible dread.

At least until their savior arrived in the form of the Longbottoms.

A dozen Death Eaters had attacked Longbottom Manor, armed to the teeth. The only inhabitants were Frank and Alice Longbottom, Frank's mother Augusta, and their son, Neville. Two Aurors, one grandmother, and a one-year-old baby.

Frank and Alice had attacked the Death Eaters, holding them off, when they heard a scream. They managed to incapacitate the rest of the Dark wizards and rushed upstairs, to where Augusta had been guarding Neville.

Instead of their worst nightmares, they found their son in his crib. In front of him was a collection of robes drenched in Dark magic. Whoever had been inside had been disintegrated. Augusta was found blown through a wall, severely injured and in a coma.

But no one could recognize the robes, though they were definitely a Dark wizard's. The mystery remained until the next day, then the day after that, then the day after that. The attacks stopped. There was no word from any Dark wizard.

It only took one person who realized that the jumble of robes had been You-Know-Who, the Dark Lord himself. The one responsible for the entire war. The ruler of the Death Eaters.

He was dead.

Frank and Alice came public only a few days later, tired and worn but holding their son. There had been several confusions as newspapers rushed to name their savior. One came up with the name the Light's Savior, another created Hero of the Light, but the Daily Prophet had the final word.

The Boy-Who-Lived through Voldemort, through the war, through the Night of Blood. Neville Longbottom, their savior.

But while people celebrated over the winning, they forgot the loss. Six new war orphans, eighty-one deaths, countless houses and possessions lost. And Sarabi Devene, a muggleborn Auror who had been worked to the bone for the past ten days, had to deal with losses by herself.

Harry Potter hadn't been known to have any relatives until Headmaster Dumbledore actually stepped forward, explaining he had been good friends with the Potters. He brought records of muggle siblings to Lily Potter, who were decent people and would take Harry in. And so Sarabi had been chosen to bring little Harry to them.

He was a rather sweet baby, once his injuries had been healed up. Burns coating most of his whole body, though it was only a slight discoloration by the time they were finished. They still had the basket he had been delivered in and she was planning on giving it to the Dursleys, maybe as some sort of momento. She was just fiercely glad that the Dursleys already knew about magic, because she also had to deliver Pamela Alton to her other relatives once she was done, and explaining magic took much longer than just giving a child to his relatives.

Too many deaths, too few people to take in those remaining.

Number four Privet Drive was a quaint enough place, though a bit similar to those surrounding it. The gardens could use a bit of work but the place was still comfortable. She rearranged her clothes - a professional suit in order to make a good impression - and stepped forward, rapping sharply on the mildly painted door.

It was answered quickly. She could have sworn someone was watching her from the window and the quick response time confirmed it. A woman stood in the doorway, seemingly pinched and stretched as if to make herself taller. Her neck was narrow and her face gaunt, but a fire still glimmered from her eyes. Not a fighter but Petunia Dursley didn't seem the type to roll over and lay belly up. "Yes?"

"Hello, Mrs. Dursley. I am afraid to inform you that your sister has been killed." She kept her voice as calm as she could, but the sudden burning pain in Petunia's eyes was impossible to ignore. She pressed on.

"It was in a freak… terrorist attack no one saw coming. She managed to protect her son, Harry, but it was at the cost of her and her husband's life. Unfortunately, that same attack has also killed many others across our nation, and we are greatly struggling to recover. As Lily's sister and Harry's only living close relative, we would like to ask whether you would possibly take him in."

Petunia couldn't seem to form words, still stuck up on the fact that her sister was dead. Sarabi winced, but she had a job to do. If she sugarcoated it, she'd never get Harry to a safe home as well as Pamela.

"I understand this is a sudden change, but the Ministry has agreed to pay for fifty percent of his upbringing costs until he is eleven and if he does turn out to be a wizard, Lily and James' money will pay for all of Hogwart's tuition."

"If?" Petunia latched onto the one word. "Are you saying he could not be magical?"

Sarabi shrugged. "It can happen, especially with such a tragedy happening while he was so young. That would be what we call a 'squib', Mrs. Dursley."

Petunia looked much more awake, even though her eyes still showed her pain. "How will… your government decide how much money to give us?"

"We will pay a nondescript average price for the first year, and after that, you are free to tell us if it is too little or too much, although we will require proof in order to pay more to you. But other than that, his upbringing is up to you. We have written up a short paper describing how to handle accidental magic as well as several numbers to call if there are any questions-" she switched Harry's basket over to one arm and produced a thin folder, handing it over. Petunia took it rather numbly. "- but if that never becomes necessary, you are welcome to destroy those papers. We would greatly appreciate if they did not leave the boundaries of your house, if you understand."

Petunia nodded. "So we will receive money, we may raise him however we want, and there's a chance he won't have freakish powers?"

Sarabi bristled and Petunia seemed to notice, ducking her head slightly. "Yes. There are a few guardianship papers you will need to sign but unfortunately, with trying times like these, we have sped up the process dramatically in order to give him to you nearly immediately, as we have no time to take care of our several orphans and other family members."

Petunia's eyes gleamed. "Yes yes, please come inside."

And as such, one Harry James Potter, war orphan, become the adopted son of Petunia and Vernon Dursley.

xXx

" _Scream, blood-traitor, it's your fault he's dead!"_

xXx

Petunia and Vernon Dursley were hardly the best parents, but they were parents, and that was what Harry Potter sorely needed.

Their Dudley always came first, and after that came themselves, then their reputation, then Vernon's job, then money, then their house, and nestled at the bottom was Harry. He was given the smallest bedroom, though it honestly wasn't that much smaller, and Dudley would use his bookcase and shelves to store his extra things on. But Harry got a bed, however squeaky it was,

a desk, no matter the one broken leg, and a closet, despite half of it devoted to Dudley. Good clothes, three meals, an education.

And as many books as he could read.

The rule was that once Dudley had finished pretending to read the pages, Harry was allowed to read it, though if Dudley ever wanted it back he had to give it. While Dudley did suddenly gain a strange urge to take the book Harry was reading at the moment, it never truly bothered Harry because he had dozens more to enjoy, and Dudley eventually gave up.

Aunt Petunia liked him reading. It was a nondestructive activity, unlike Dudley's pastimes of eating, watching the telly, and demanding presents. She didn't like him to do bad things and neither did his uncle, which he learned when he was only four.

Uncle Vernon had been watching some sort of show about golfing when Harry waddled up. The man didn't pay attention to him, like normal, but his attitude changed when Harry frowned and switched the channel to a kid's show, all without touching the remote.

It had taken fifteen seconds before he was grabbed by the back of his shirt and hauled into the air, furiously stomped over to the stairs before he was tossed into a tiny cupboard filled with cleaning supplies.

Outside, he peered through the cracks as Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia shouted furiously at each other, waving some sort of folder with papers spilling out of it. They kept talking about things he didn't understand with his four-year-old vocabulary and he stayed in that cupboard for another ten minutes before Uncle Vernon threw up his arms and stomped away. Aunt Petunia came over and unlocked it, letting him out.

"What you just did was bad. If you do that again, you go into the cupboard, okay?" She said, and there was a particular gentleness in her voice as she smoothed back a few strands of his black hair and tucked his collar back in.

He blinked up at her with wide green eyes. "Okay, Aunt Petunia," he said carefully, sounding out all of the words.

In the beginning, he was able to obey. He'd think about something pounding beneath his wrists and eyes, oddly, but he'd always manage to wrench it back. Then there was the accident with the salt container and back to the cupboard he went, for three whole hours that time.

On this fourth time, Aunt Petunia took out the cleaning supplies and put a few blankets in instead. The seventh time, a tiny mattress with a pillow. The tenth time, he started to stay in it overnight.

Meals were scarce within the Cupboard, but Aunt Petunia always gave him something large once he got out. But Uncle Vernon started to like the Cupboard far too much and suddenly it wasn't only Bad things that got him put into the Cupboard but anything Uncle Vernon didn't like at all. He tripped and kicked one of Dudley's toys down the stairs - Cupboard. Knocked the open pepper into Aunt Petunia's dish - Cupboard. Questioned one of Uncle Vernon's decisions -

Cupboard.

It wasn't bad in there. The grate provided plenty of air to breathe and enough light to read in there, as long as he snuck the books in beforehand. He had to cook a few meals a week when Aunt Petunia was too busy but if he was in the Cupboard, he got out of that, too. And they never held him back from school and since Uncle Vernon unlocked the Cupboard before he went to his work, he had plenty of time in the morning to do any homework he might have missed. Dudley teased him over it a few times but the insults stopped working after a while. He had already heard them all before.

School was good as well. The teachers liked him because he liked to read, and he could answer most of the questions they gave him. His homework assignments were a bit sloppy, as he had never had the best handwriting, but he was good at math and english problems. History wasn't his best but he still managed to get good grades on all of his subjects. The lunches were hardly the best but every now and then they'd serve pizza and that was always delicious. And of course, there was the library.

Dudley still didn't like him, but that was it. A regular sibling rivalry, though Dudley didn't see him as his brother and neither did Harry. There had been a couple of times where Dudley had tried to hurt him but Harry made a point to either be by adults or completely alone in most situations and those instances were far and few between. The Cupboard had taught him to survive with only his own thoughts and he didn't mind it at all.

His one problem was that his Bad things were hard to control. They sprung to his aid whenever he tried to do anything and he didn't know a way to fight them, but he became to become good at hiding them from Uncle Vernon. If he accidentally twitched a book closer toward him, he'd force himself to trip to draw attention to his mistake instead of the book, and it normally worked. Of course, there were times, that it didn't, and then came the Cupboard. He spent normally three nights a week in there, but at that point, he had asked Aunt Petunia for cleaning supplies and had made it nice, though not truly comfortable. He was now eleven years old and while the mattress still fit him, he couldn't sit up fully or else hit his head on the protruding undersides of the stairs. But he was short for his age and it seemed like he would stay that way, so he didn't worry too much. Maybe they'd send him to the attic when he grew too large for it.

But his life was good and he didn't have much of a problem with anything. Did he? He didn't really care much for the Dursleys but he knew that once he got through school, he'd be able to leave them and go for a new life. Something involved with books or learning. Something clever.

At least, until one fateful morning where a letter tumbled onto the doormat with _Mr. H. Potter_ stamped across the front.


End file.
